


The Misadventures of Peter-Hand and the Lust Boys

by pissedoffeskimo



Category: Hook (1991), Original Work, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Humor, M/M, Parody, mentioned of bondage, mentions of potential rape/noncon, mentions of pseudo not-quite-cannibalism, mentions of underage sexual situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2048772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedoffeskimo/pseuds/pissedoffeskimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pornographic parody of Hook. That’s right. A pornographic. Parody. Of Hook.  With the help of Tinkerboy and the Lust Boys, 26-year-old professor Peter Humphrey must get his memories back to save his not-son Charles from the evil Captain Hooker.</p><p>Featuring: Peter-Hand; Rufi-Ho; Tinkerboy; the twins, Spits and Swallows; Spank-Me; Captain Hooker; and many more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a parody. I do not actually condone underage sex, despite what the vast majority of what I’ve written would suggest. Please take all warnings seriously. I keep it at an R-rating, but some themes, due to their nature, may be considered disturbing, unless, of course, you have a sense of humor and remember that, at its core, a parody is not to be taken seriously.

The house was in shambles, the dog wouldn’t stop barking. If she didn’t calm down soon, they’d have to give her a tranquilizer. His wife was standing with the officers, giving a statement of their whereabouts that night and who she thought might have done this. Peter looked at the plaster wall across from him, eyeing the gash that ran from the door up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. It looked like someone had stabbed the wall and dragged the blade behind them as they walked.

“Mr. Humphrey.”

He tried to imagine what that person must have been looking for, but in all honestly, he didn’t have anything of value there. It was just a quaint little room with large bay windows. They’d kept the walls the same baby blue that they had been when Peter was a child and there was only a bed, a dresser, and a rocking chair that had belonged to Peter’s foster mother, Wendy. He couldn’t even remember all the nights she had spent in that rocking chair, telling him stories of Pirates and Indians.

“Mr. Humphrey.”

The only thing that had been in that room was Charles, who had come to stay with them for a few days. Charles was a young man of only eighteen, attending his first year at the University where Peter was a professor. It was Winter Holiday, the snow was heavy and when Charles had told Peter that he wouldn’t be going home for Christmas, Peter had immediately suggested he stay with Moira and him.

Moira had agreed without hesitation. She was heavily pregnant and she’d said it didn’t seem right, a young man like that, away from home his first year and all alone on Christmas. Of course, that wasn’t the real reason Peter had asked, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the police, let alone his wife.

“Mr. Humphrey!” A hand shook his shoulder and he looked up, startled. A police officer was looking down at him, concerned, “Mr. Humphrey, can you come with me?”

Nodding, Peter stood and followed the officer up the stairs, fighting the urge to touch the wall where the uneven gouge led them around the corner and into the guest room. The bed was unmade, the quilt shredded. On the wall next to the window a dagger was lodged into the wall, a piece of thick parchment-like paper hanging from it.

Peter looked at the dagger and his legs felt weak. Moira and he had only been in the room for a minute before he had taken her around the shoulders and forced her to leave. At eight months pregnant, the doctors had warned him that stress could cause her to go into early labor and when she’d started to hyperventilate, his only thoughts had been of his child’s safety.

“Is that what did the damage?” He motioned to the dagger and the angry line of ruined plaster preceding it.

The officer nodded, “It’s the right size. Mr. Humphrey, I need you to be perfectly honest with me. Your wife said there was a young man staying here.”

“Right. Charles Winters. He’s one of my students.”

”Do you usually have students stay with you over the holidays?”

Peter saw where this was going. He’d been preparing for it ever since they’d gotten back to find the home vandalized and their guest gone. “No, I don’t. Charles is a bit of a special case. I’ve been spending a lot of time tutoring him and I feel very… close to him, I suppose. When he said he couldn’t get home for the holidays, I offered him a place where he could feel like he was with family.”

The officer nodded. “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Mr. Humphrey?”

“No. Well, not biologically. I was adopted. Wendy Humphrey, the woman who used to live here, she took me and several other children in.” He waited for a minute, both to collect his thoughts and to steal himself for the defense he had prepared, “Look, Officer, I know it looks bad - me asking a young man to stay with us, a student no less - but it’s the nature of this house, of the way I was raised.”

It was the truth. While he had never offered his students a place to stay before, it was the kind of thing that Wendy would have done. Had she been alive to meet Charles, she would have made him sit at her feet and tell her everything about him. She would have liked him. “Wendy would have wanted it that way.”

The officer nodded and went to the wall, pulling the note off the dagger. “Could you take a look at this for me?”

The paper was off-white and had the appearance of old world parchment, stiff and brittle to the touch. The ink was thick and the writing was scrawled unevenly across the surface. He paled as he read the contents. ‘I have your son. If you want him, come and get him. Captain H.’

He felt his hands shaking as the officer took the note away from him, setting it gently on the dresser. “Is there anyone you can think of, who would think Mr. Winters is your son?”

Peter stared at the note on the dresser numbly. “I can’t... I just can’t imagine who would mistake him for my son. It’s just not possible.”

The officer nodded gravely, “Possible or not, Mr. Humphrey, that is apparently what someone thinks. Is there anyone you can think of that has a grudge against you or your wife?”

“No.” Peter shook his head, “I mean, I’ve failed students before, but I’ve never gotten any kind of threatening notes or phone calls.”

“Did any of them ever seem hostile towards you after they were failed?”

Peter saw white spots and realized that he’d forgotten to breathe. Taking a deep breath, he allowed the officer to seat him on the rocking chair while he tried to think. “Yes, a few, but honestly, sir, I’m only twenty seven and most people take me for younger than that. I can’t imagine how anyone, least of all one of my students, could mistake Charles for my son.”

There was a long pause and finally, the Officer sighed, “Sir, I’m going to ask you something and I want an honest answer. Is Mr. Winters your lover?”

Peter looked up sharply. “Of course not. He’s my student. I am married. That would be entirely inappropriate.”

“None the less, it’s been known to happen.” Peter glared at the officer, who tipped his hat. “I didn’t mean any offense, Mr. Humphrey. I’ll be going now. Try not to disturb anything and I’ll have one of the investigators come up in a few minutes to finish dusting for prints.”

Peter nodded and watched the man leave. How could they possibly have known? He and Charles had been utterly discrete. They hadn’t gone drinking together at pubs, the only dinners they’d had were when Peter was genuinely tutoring him and even then they’d made sure to stay a respectable distance away. The majority of their affairs had taken place in his office or… well, right here in this room.

A memory of the night before made Peter’s cock start to swell and he shifted uncomfortable. Moira had just gone to sleep and he had crept in here and fucked Charles so hard the boy’d had to bite into the pillow to keep from screaming. It had been hot and steamy and… and now Charles was gone and it was someone who was out for some kind of revenge on Peter.

His stiffened penis wilted and he stood up, going to the open window and look out over the city, into the night. It was chilly out and he wrapped his arms around himself, watching his breath mist. Charles was out there somewhere, probably afraid and in the hands of who knew what kind of madman.

Who was Captain H and who, in this day and age, would call themselves a Captain? Perhaps the culprit was the captain of a sport’s team. Of course, he had failed the Captain of the University’s Football team! What was his name? Henry, or Harry, or... he couldn’t really remember, but he thought it might have begun with an ‘H’.

He started to turn around to go back downstairs, to tell the officers what he had remembered, but suddenly, one of the stars moved. Stopping, he turned back around and put his hands on the rail, leaning forward. Was it coming towards him? Yes, yes it was and it was getting bigger. He backpedaled into the room as the star came at him and became clearer.

Suddenly, it stopped and the light faded, the shape of a man wearing flesh toned hot pants and what appeared to be a lycra mini shirt came into focus. Oh, good god, he was seeing things. Gay things.

“There you are, Peter!”

Apparently, he was hearing them, too. The man was only about six inches tall and he was floating, his hands clasped in front of him and his feet bent back.

“I’ve been waiting for simply ages. I was afraid they’d never leave you alone.” The little man fluttered down and grabbed Peter’s hand, lifting it. “Come on, we have to hurry. Captain Hooker has your son, we have to save him.”

Peter tried to pull his hand away, but found that the floating man had a surprisingly strong grip. Instead of pulling away, he found himself being pulled up. “Now listen here, you… whatever you are, I don’t know what’s going on, but I do not have a son. My lo… student, Charles has been kidnapped and if you know anything about where he is…”

The little man, however, didn’t appear to be listening anymore. He had dropped Peter’s hand and put a finger thoughtfully to his chin. “Not your son?” He swayed a little, back and forth, his feet swinging like a pendulum under him. “Are you sure?”

Peter stared, open mouthed, “Of course I’m sure! I think I’d know if I had an eighteen-year-old son, thank you very much!”

The little man pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, tipping himself upside down. “That does make things a little more difficult, I suppose.”

For a moment, Peter entertained reasoning with it, when he suddenly realized that there was no way this thing was real, it had to be some kind of hallucination. Of course, that was it! This was a hallucination, brought on by the stress of dealing with Moira’s pregnancy and the affair and the break-in. It was the only rational explanation.

Suddenly, the hallucination flipped right side up with a shrug and grabbed Peter’s hand again. “Oh, well, we still have to go and rescue him!”

Before Peter could say anything else to the contrary, he was propelled forward and tripped over the lip of the rug, falling forwards onto the floor. His forehead clipped the edge of the rocking chair and he found himself lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The little man landed on his chest and looked down at him. Now that he wasn’t flying around, Peter could make out the faint outline of translucent wings.

“You have wings.”

His voice was slurred and the room was beginning to get dark. The winged creature crouched down and looked intently at Peter’s face. “Of course I have wings, I am a fairy, after all.”

“What? That can’t be right, fairies don’t…”

Before he could finish it, the little man dove forward and put his miniature hands over Peter’s mouth. “Don’t say that! Hm, you look tired. Go to sleep, Peter, and when you wake up, you’ll be in Everland.”

Sleep sounded like a very good idea. Of course, the part about Everland was a little confusing, but he’d deal with that when he woke up. As the room continued to darken and he felt himself falling into unconsciousness, he was aware of a strange floating sensation, then nothing else.

 

 

*****

 

 

Peter woke to the sound of whispering voices all around him.

“Is that really Peter-Hand?”

“It doesn’t look like him.”

“Well, he has been gone an awfully long time.”

“I suppose.”

“I expected more wrinkles. Tinkerboy says he has a son… or, wait, he doesn’t have a son.”

“I thought Tinkerboy said that Captain Hooker has his not-son.”

“Sh, you’ll wake him up.”

“I think he’s…”

“…already awake.”

Hesitantly, Peter opened his eyes and the faces of four young boys swam into view. Two of them had short, curly blond hair and looked to be twins. They were sitting on either side of his head. Another boy with brown hair pulled back into a pony tail knelt at his feet and a little boy with short dirty-blonde hair and a round face sat above him, biting his lip.

They all watched him and eventually, it became obvious to Peter that no one intended to move until he did. Perhaps if he closed his eyes they’d go away.

Finally, one of the twins looked at the other and than back at Peter, “Are you really Peter-Hand?”

Peter blinked, but couldn’t quite formulate an answer. The other twin reached forward, shoving his brother on the shoulder, “Of course he’s Peter, Spits, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid, you’re stupid, Swallows.”

The little boy above Peter’s head looked at the twins in distress, “Come on, you two, Tinkerboy said we had to be quiet.”

The brunette at Peter’s feet let a malicious sort of grin creep onto his face. “I don’t care who he is, I just want five minutes alone with him.”

All eyes turned to the boy, but he shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. The one called Spits, shook his head knowingly, “You just want five minutes alone with any male that can get his grubby little hands on you.”

“Not so, and their hands are never little. I like my men big.”

Swallows rolled his eyes and Peter felt his stomach drop as the dark-haired boy continued to stare at him.   What the bloody hell? He couldn’t be more than fifteen! What was he doing making those kinds of comments at his age?

“Now, see here…”

He was interrupted by the small boy, who reached down and put one of his hands on Peter’s face, pulling his cheeks back. “You still haven’t answered the question!”

“Wakeshon?”

The boy seemed to understand him, despite his slur, “Are you Peter-Hand?”

The boy at his feet got onto his hands and knees and crawled over Peter, pulling the little boy’s hand off his face, “Stop it, Diddles, that isn’t nice.” Then, he looked down at Peter, still smiling and Peter became very aware that the boy’s hips were directly over his crotch. Not only that, but Peter had also become aware of what the boy was wearing, or, more precisely what he wasn’t wearing, because no one in their right mind could call those leather shorts presentable on a child, and the open black leather vest with no shirt underneath didn’t help. If it weren’t for the little one still leaning over him, he would have sat up and moved away, or perhaps he would have grabbed the boy and pulled him down - he was only human.

Clearing his throat, he did his best to shove the thoughts out of the forefront of his mind and focus on the task at hand. “Would you mind?”

He shrugged, but didn’t move. Suddenly, the boy’s head was jerked back viciously and Peter watched in amazement as the little glowing man from the night before yanked the boy off of Peter and onto his bum in front of the door. “Spank-Me, what did I tell you?”

The boy frowned, rubbing his head tenderly, “You told you me to play nice and there’s nothing nicer than…”

“That’s not what I said.”

The boy rolled his eyes, “Fine, you said not to touch him. Only I didn’t touch him, Tinkerboy, I was just keeping Diddles from harassing him.”

Diddles pouted, “I wasn’t harassing him. I was only trying to ask him a question.”

Tinkerboy landed on Peter’s chest, glaring at the boys with his fists planted firmly on his hips. “There’s no time to play around. We have to save Peter’s Charles.”

The twins looked at each other and spoke in unison, “What’s a Charles?”

Diddles looked down at Peter’s crotch and then back at Tinkerboy, “His Charles? Is that another name for his penis?”

Spank-Me, who was still sitting on his bum in the doorway giggled, but Peter had stopped paying attention to them, because the events of the previous evening were coming back to him. Coming home from the dinner, the house, the police, Charles missing, the note, everything. He sat up, heedless of the little boy still sitting above him, who just managed to avoid being hit. The little man on his chest fell onto the floor with a panicked squeal and rolled over three times before coming to a stop, staring dazedly up at Peter.

He looked around the room at the boys, not exactly sure what to say. They seemed stunned by his sudden movement, but didn’t move to stop him. He had to get Charles. Spank-Me scrambled to get out of his way as he barreled out of the room… and found himself leaning over a rail and staring out into empty space that dropped some five stories to the floor of a forest.

“Bloody shite!”

He nearly toppled over the edge, but several hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him back over the rail and he fell to the floor of the hut, numb. Looking out through the door, he tried to take in his surroundings, fully aware that he was mere moments away from pissing himself.

He was in a forest, he could see the trees all around him, and there were other little huts in other trees, but he could only see the tops of their roofs and the ropes and ladders that connected them. Bellow him, far bellow him, was the ground. The boys were looking at him expectantly and he at them all, trying to decide what they were expecting him to do. Were they trapped up here and wanted his help? It didn’t seem likely, considering. “What?”

Spank-Me rolled his eyes and stood up, turning his back to Peter before wiping the dirt off his tight, leather clad arse and the dark, tanned legs that they melded to. Throwing Peter one last glance, he winked and stepped out of the hut, descending onto a ladder that hung off the balcony just outside the door. Getting up onto his hands and knees, Peter crawled to the door and looked down, watching the boy as he traversed the rickety little ladder made of sticks and thin, vines that had been braided into ropes. No way in bloody hell.

“Come on, Peter.” He looked up to see Tinkerboy hovering next to him.

“Come on, what?”

The twins, Spits and Swallows came around from behind him, getting onto the ladder one after the other. Spits grinned at him encouragingly and Peter gaped as the boy casually swung himself onto the ladder, his grip lose and carefree. Before he could stop himself, Peter’s hand shot out, gripping the boy’s upper arm. “Be careful!”

Swallows giggled from below them, already descending the treacherous, makeshift ladder. “It’s perfectly safe. Tinkerboy used his magic.”

Spits leaned forward and kissed Peter’s nose, catching the man off guard and he lost his grip on the boy, who immediately slid from his view. “Wait!” It was too late.

Tinkerboy fluttered in front of Peter’s face, “You have to climb down, Peter. How are you going to save your Charles if you’re stuck all the way up here?” Without waiting for an answer, Tinkerboy flew off over the thatched roofs and Peter watched him disappear into a particularly large one on the other side of the encampment.

Bugger. What he supposed to do now? He was caught up in some illusion about kinky little boys and flaming fairies and he was quite certain that with each passing moment he was losing what little sanity he had left.

“Peter?” He looked back at Diddles, who still sat on the floor of the hut, watching him expectantly. “What’s wrong? If you’re scared of the ladder, why don’t you just fly down?”

Fly. Of course, this was his fantasy, why not? He looked down again and his stomach lurched. Fantasy or not, there was no way he was jumping off the ledge from five stories up. However, there was no point staying there. Spits landed on the ground and looked at him, waving for him to follow and Peter sighed in resignation. He may not like it, but he couldn’t stay up there, either.

Slowly, cautiously, he sat down and scooted himself off the edge, gripped the handle as he twisted around and found his footing, descending the ladder. As he’d feared, it was unsteady and completely unsafe. He could feel the branches bending under his feet and the vines stretched dangerously at his weight. The moment his feet touched the ground, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and backed away, looking up at the little hut high above him.

“Who is their right minds would have built anything up _there_.”

“You.”

He whirled around at the unfamiliar voice, intending to settle the ridiculous claim right then and there, because he was bloody well certain he’d never built a tree house in his life, let alone one that high up. He was afraid of heights for god’s sake, always had been. However, what his eyes fell upon, shoved all other thoughts out of his mind and left him standing, dumbfounded, with his mouth opening and shutting in a useless effort to speak.

The boy standing before him was tall, nearly as tall as Peter himself, with short black hair, pulled into an absurd little mohawk that was tipped in bright red. His skin was tan and his features smooth. He was, perhaps, Hawaiian in decent and while Peter had never particularly been attracted to Polynesian men, this one was... sinfully hot, with thinly muscled thighs barely covered in tight pants that stitched up the side and a loin clothe of rawhide slung low on his hips. His chest was puffed out, his arms crossed over the animal skin shirt that stretched over his upper torso, crossing only one shoulder, the clasps on the other had broken and fallen off, revealing the hard bone under the stretched skin. Peter loved that on men, it never failed to make his cock stir.

The boy lowered his arms, placing his hand on his hips and Peter gulped, forcing himself to look up from his other weakness, the trail of shadow and muscle leading from hip bone to groin. It was like a bloody arrow, pointing to the object of his lust. The boy was still staring at him and Peter realized he’d quite forgotten what they had been talking about. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, you built it. Or at least, that’s what Tinkerboy says.” He looked Peter up and down, scathingly. “I, for one, don’t believe him.”

Peter became aware of several boys that were sneaking out from behind trees and walking out to stand next to the man-child before him, who was, quite obviously, the eldest one there. Surrounded by so many scantily clad children, Peter felt remarkable ill at ease in his lose fitting trousers and button up.

He pulled himself to his full height defensively. “That… little man is daft. Of course, I didn’t build that.” He hadn’t built anything in his entire life. Not even those abominable self-assembly pieces his wife had occasionally brought home from IKEA.

The boy scowled, looking Peter over with obvious contempt. “Of course you didn’t, old man, and I bet you can’t fly either.”

“I beg your pardon?” What the bloody hell was the little twit blithering on about? That was the second time someone had mentioned flying and where did he get off calling Peter old? He was hardly old. Not as young as these children, perhaps, but he was only twenty seven.

The man-child, however, did not appear to hear Peter and turned to the group of children behind him, his head held high in self assurance. “This is not Peter-Hand. This is just some old man. Tinkerboy was wrong.”

“Now see here…!”

Tinkerboy, who had apparently been standing behind Peter, flew forward to flutter in Peter’s face, his little backside practically perched on Peter’s nose. For an imaginary fairy, he certainly had a nice backside. Peter shook his head, not entirely certain where that had come from. “I am not wrong and you know it, Rufi-Ho! He is Peter-Hand and we have to help him.”

Rufi-Ho turned half around and looked at Peter scathingly. “It’s not him. That old man is not the Hand.”

“Excuse me!” They all turned to face him and Peter fumed. “I am not old. I’m only twenty seven.”

Rufi-Ho frowned, “That’s ten years too old to be here. Unless, of course, you’re a pirate. Are you a pirate?”

“No!” Peter took a step back, surprised by the ferocity of his own tone. He didn’t know why, but the thought of being called a pirate made his stomach clench and his face heat with anger. “Look, I don’t know what is going on here, or who you think you are, but I am Peter Humphrey, a noted Professor at the University and one of my students has been abducted by some madman by the name of Captain Hooker. Now if you can help me, great, but if not, I’d rather be on my way than listen to all of this nonsense.”

Rufi-Ho regarded him with his slightly upturned nose. “Captain Hooker’s ship is moored on the other side of the island.”

“How do I get there?”

“Through the trees, past the watering hole and the Bondage Tribe, take a right at the Mermen’s Lagoon and follow the path. If you reach the Fairy’s Keep, you’ve gone too far.”

Peter stood, blinking for several minutes while he tried to analyze those directions. Before he could say anything about their absurdity, Spank-Me stepped forward. “I’ll take him.”

Rufi-Ho frowned down at him, “You are my Lust Boy.”

“By choice, not because you took me. I’ll do as I please and I’ll take him to the ship if I want.”

They stared each other down while the other boys watched, leaning closer with every passing minute. Spank-Me stood nearly a foot shorter than Rufi-Ho and he was slimmer, younger by at least two years. If it came down to a fight, Peter had no doubt that Rufi-Ho would win. Luckily, it did not come to that. Rufi-Ho snarled at the boy, “Fine, take him to the ship and have your fun.”

He turned around, storming off, with Spank-Me close behind.

 

 

*****

 

 

The warf was littered with men in various stages of disgust. Peter had never seen anything so vile in his entire life. The smell alone was hideous. A man with a peg leg limped past them and he very nearly gagged. He didn’t want to hazard a guess as to the last time these men had bathed.

A long dock connected the shore to a ship that had been grounded some time ago. Several young, scantily clad men were draped across the laps of grizzled men. One of them winked at Peter as he passed, flicking the end of a tacky pink boa at him suggestively. The man under him grabbed the boy’s ass and squeezed it tightly, glowering at Peter.

Resisting the urge to tighten the trench around him, Peter continued to walk, trying not to think about how glad he was that Spank-Me had insisted they wear disguises. His original plan of walking up and demanding they hand Charles over to him probably had not been the brightest idea.

Where Spank-Me had gotten the disguise was still a mystery, but Peter wasn’t complaining. The trench coat hid his out of place clothing, and a pair of boots thunked appropriately against the wooden dock. The stick-on bushy tangle of the fake beard, mustache, and wig covered most of his young face, which would have stood out against the leathered wear of the pirates he was now surrounded by.

Then Spank-Me had produced a thick metal chain, connected one end to his collar and, holding the other out to Peter, said, “Trust me.”

He’d wanted to argue, but the boy certainly appeared to know what he was doing and besides, Tinkerboy had been adamant that Spank-Me was indeed trustworthy. Peter wasn’t sure he trusted either of them, but he didn’t have very many options, so he took a deep breath, grabbed the chain and started walking.

So far, it was working. They got a few looks, but as Peter boarded the actual ship, he saw why the chain had been the only disguise Spank-Me had needed. There were several collared men throughout the ship. One was chained to the helm, another was on his hands and knees in a thong, washing the deck, and a third was standing outside an ornate door, looking bored.

Spank-Me tugged on the chain and nodded towards the young man by the door. Peter walked over to stand near him, half listening to the conversation while he searched for any signs of Charles.

The man, whoever he was, seemed unimpressed and mildly annoyed at Spank-Me’s presence. “What are you doing here?”

Shrugging, Spank-Me jingled the chain. “Having a spot of fun. What about you? Big Chief hasn’t come to the rescue yet?”

The man smirked, “Oh, he came. I just refused to go with him. He can have me back when he’s learned to share.”

“You still act like you’re fifty, Water-Sports. He’s supposed to be your Master, he can do whatever he wants.”

Peter jerked his head over at them, both at the name and the absurd age Spank-Me had thrown out. Water-Sports? And had he said a fifty?! Dropping his voice, he leaned over, “How old are you?”

Spank-Me smiled brightly. “Everland is a place of desires, Peter. We live until we no longer have the will for it.”

“That doesn’t answer…”

They were interrupted as the door they were standing next to burst open. Peter immediately backed away, melding into the crowd and allowing himself to be swallowed by the sudden rush of onlookers.

What came out of the doorway was, quite honestly, the last thing Peter had expected to see in a place like this. A woman. She was short and slender, with voluptuous breasts that spilled over the top of her black bodice and nearly out of the loose, brown tunic. Her black tights clung to her shapely legs and curving hips. A large, bejeweled codpiece was strapped over her crotch which was very tastefully done, considering the nature of the thing itself.

The woman’s black hair flowed over her shoulders in ringlets, her skin was pale against the afternoon sun, and she walked straighter and more confident than any man there. In short, Peter was fairly certain this was Captain Hooker.

“Suck-Me!”

“Coming, Cap’n!” A little man as small as the Captain stumbled out of the cabin, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to her side.

“My hook.”

The man held out a wooden box, gold filigree decorating all sides. He opened it and for the first time, Peter realized Captain Hooker was missing a hand. She pulled a shining metal hook from the box and attachment it to the stump. Peter didn’t want to imagine what kind of damage something like that could do, especially as she held it up, the point glinting in the sun.

Where the hell was Charles?

Captain Hooker unclasped the chain that held Water-Sports in place and took the end, walking with him in tow up the steps to the helm. She moved to stand at the guard rail and Water-Sports kneeled next to her submissively, head down and waiting. Spank-Me moved closer, pressing himself firmly against Peter’s side.

When all movement had stopped, Captain Hooker addressed her crew. “I have Peter-Hand’s son!”

A roar of approval ripped through the air and Spank-Me elbowed Peter’s arm, reminding him to join in. She held her hand up and everyone stopped, the ship once again becoming silent.

“Before that, however, we have a traitor in our midst.”

A gasp went through the crowd, incredibly theatrical considering it was a pirate ship. Peter slunk back a little further as Captain Hooker descended the steps to the main deck and walked towards the crowd, scanning it thoughtfully. Her knee high, healed boots clanked along the deck and Peter paled as he realized she was heading towards him.

When she stopped, she was facing him, her head high and somehow, despite being much taller than she was, he felt very small in front of her. She sighed, her chest heaving, before she stepped forward and locking eyes with… the man next to him. Peter’s knees went weak with relief as she addressed the other man.

“You’ve done something bad, haven’t you?” The man started to shake his head, but stopped. “Now, now, no use lying. Big Chief knew his little slave was here. How is that, Trouser Snake? How is it that he knew I had his Sub mere days after?”

Trouser Snake, as the man was apparently called, shook his head frantically, then looked up and let out a sob, nodding pathetically. Peter stepped away from him, pulling Spank-Me with him.

Captain Hooker nodded, her face reflecting nothing but concern and understanding. “You told him, didn’t you? You went to the Bondage Tribe and you traded information.” He nodded again, his face in his hands. “Do I not provide enough entertainment? Are there not enough boys here to meet your pleasures?”

He said nothing, but she opened her mouth as if she’d just realized something. “Or perhaps that’s the problem. They’re boys. Perhaps, you aren’t a pirate, after all. Is that it, Trouser-Snake? Do you prefer the submissive arts?”

Trouser-Snake was nodding again, his shoulders slumped and his back shaking. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what was wrong with being submissive, but apparently there was, because Captain Hooker gently patted his back once before turning around, yelling, “Jizz Box!”

The man cried out and immediately began begging as his fellow pirates grabbed him, dragging him to middle of the ship where another group opened a trap door Peter hadn’t noticed earlier. As they thrust him through the opening, Captain Hooker ascended the steps again. The man’s cries faded to almost nothing as the door shut and Peter wasn’t sure what had happened, but he was fairly sure it was a bad thing.

He tilted his head down and whispered to Spank-Me, “What’s a Jizz Box?”

“It’s a waste’s what it is.” Spank-Me sighed. “It’s a room about ten feet deep and only wide enough for one man to stand in. They’ll leave him there for the next few days and everyone is expected to… leave a donation at some point.”

Peter looked around the ship at the number of pirates huddled together on the deck. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say there were fifty on the ship itself, more on the docks and the land. He shuddered.

“And now, my faithful crew,” Captain Hooker, waved a hand behind her, “Peter’s son!”

His attention was immediately drawn past the captain as a large net was pulled up, Charles tangled inside, screeching indignantly. “Let me out of here!”

Captain Hooker laughed jovially. “I’ll let you out, as soon as your father is dead.”

Charles grabbed at the net, trying to right himself and failing miserably. “I keep telling you, he’s not my father! He’s my professor! For heaven’s sake, he’s only nine years older!”

“Age means nothing to fairies.”

Peter closed his eyes, knowing what Charles was going to say even before he’d said it. If there was one thing that could piss Charles off, it was being called a fairy. Fag was okay, homo was fine, just about every hate word in the book rolled off his back without a second glance, but fairy… fairy got him for some reason.

“You bigoted bitch! You…”

Before Charles could get any further, Peter stepped forward, throwing his cloak off his shoulders and dropping Spank-Me’s chain, expecting the boy would want to run now that he was announcing his presence. Instead of running, Spank-Me hurried to follow him. He would have asked why, but with the number of eyes on him, he could hazard a guess.

Captain Hooker’s face stretched into a smile, this one honest and full of mirth. “A new recruit? And baring a gift, nonetheless.”

Peter ripped the false hair off his face, “I’ve come for my student.”

The smile faltered, “Who might you be?”

“I am Peter Humphrey. You kidnapped Charles from my home yesterday evening and I want him back.”

“You… you’re Peter-Hand?”

Suck-Me stepped forward. “He is, Cap’n. He’s Peter-Hand.”

Captain Hooker looked Peter up and down, “Impossible. Peter-Hand is young a virile. This man is nearly thirty.”

”Oi!” Peter stepped forward, only to be dragged back by several of the pirates, who gripped his arms, pulling them behind him and binding them with ropes. “I’m twenty-seven, thank you very much and I’m not this… Hand person everyone seems to think I am. I told you, my name is…”

“Shut him up.” A rag was stuffed in his mouth and Peter gagged at the strong smell of body odor. He was going to be ruined for gyms after this. No more standing around the health center, taking in the musky smell of men sweating to pop music and pumping iron. Every time he saw someone glistening with sweat he was going to be thinking about this stench and taste.

Suck-Me scuttled forward and began undoing Peter’s trousers. Peter tried to struggle, but the other men holding him kept him from doing any real damage and in no time, Suck-Me had his trousers around his knees. He maneuvered Peter so that his backside was exposed to the crew. His boxers were lifted up on the right side and Peter blushed as he realized what they were looking at.

“See there, Cap’n? It’s the birthmark.” The bright, cherry red birthmark that sat just below his right arse cheek. It was an inch long, curved just slightly to the left and, more importantly, was shaped like a penis, complete with a mushroom tip and two good sized balls. “It’s him, he’s just spent so much time away, he don’t remember.”

Peter closed his eyes in humiliation. He really should have had that thing removed, had wanted to on more than one occasion, but something had always stopped him. Now, though? The minute he stepped foot back in London it was coming off.

He was turned back around, his trousers falling to his ankles with the movement. Captain Hooker reached up with her hook, pulling the gag from his mouth, “Well, what do you have to say to that?”

Her hook lingered against his throat, both threatening and strangely erotic. He’d always had a thing for sharp objects in bed. Not that he liked to be cut with them, but the threat was an adrenaline rush Moira had never understood.

When he finally spoke, he was surprised at how steady his voice was. “My name is Peter Humphrey. I don’t know who this Peter-Hand is and I’m terribly sorry for whatever it is he may have done you, ma’am, but…”

Captain Hooker held her claw against Peter’s jugular, applying enough pressure to make the skin dimple under it. She held it there for several seconds before slowly stepping back. “You truly don’t remember.”

The crew was silent as Captain Hooker stared up at her old foe, her eyes saddened. After several long moments, she spun around, storming several feet away before turning around, raising her hooked hand. “Do what you want with the Lust Boy. Kill the others.”

Peter tried to surge forward and the pirates let go, allowing him to trip on his trousers and fall face first on the deck. Spank-Me was being pulled away, thrashing between two men and Peter must have been hallucinating, because he could have sworn there was almost a smile on the boy’s face. Charles squealed and struggled in the net, helpless to do anything but watch and know that he was next.

At first, Peter thought everything slowing down was more to do with the fact that he was about to die. It happened in movies all the time. Then he realized it wasn’t that everything had slowed, it was that everyone had stopped what they were doing, because a bright flash of lavender light had streaked across the deck toward Captain Hooker.

It stopped at the banister just in front of the Captain and solidified into the tiny man, Tinkerboy, an aura of lavender light still glowing faintly around him. Tinkerboy put his hands on his hips and glared up at Captain Hooker, “Stop this right now!”

Captain Hooker laughed, her arms crossed over her chest and a thin eyebrow raised. “And what, exactly, do you propose to do about it, Fairy?”

Charles, thankfully, kept his mouth shut this time. Probably because he’d realized that Captain Hooker wasn’t making a reference to the little man’s sexuality, as much as the fact that he was only six inches high and had wings.

Tinkerboy floated up, settling just in front of Captain Hooker’s face. “You don’t want him dead, you never have.”

“Yes, well, my motives were perhaps a little different when he was a pretty young thing, but now…” She looked down on the deck with disdain and Peter couldn’t help feeling a little put off. He wasn’t in the best shape of his life, but he wasn’t exactly a slouch, either and, okay, maybe he should lay off the Hostess Cupcakes once in a while, but Moira was pregnant and he wasn’t the first man to put on a few sympathy pounds. “I’ve no interest in taking that to bed.”

Tinkerboy followed Captain Hooker’s gaze, then looked back at the pirate. “What if I could get him in shape?”

“You? Tinkerboy? Peter-Hand’s protector?” She laughed, throwing her head back jovially. “I would think you’d be thrilled I was no longer interested in your charge, not offering to serve him to me.”

The lavender haze darkened to a midnight blue. “I never said anything about serving him to anyone. I’ll get him in shape and you can hunt him, just like you used to.”

The humor was gone, replaced with interest. “And if I catch him?”

“If you catch him, I won’t interfere.”

There were several moments of silence while Captain Hooker considered it. Finally, she held out her hook and Tinkerboy took it in his tiny hand.

The agreement made, Hooker turned to her crew. “Let them go, boys. You have two weeks, Tinkerboy, and then I come hunting.” She started to turn and stopped, looking at Peter, who was getting to his feet, pulling his trousers up. “I’ll be keeping your son, Peter. If you win, you can have him back.”

Peter tried to keep the fear out of his voice. “And if I don’t?”

“Then he’s mine.”

Captain Hooker turned decisively away, returning through the heavy door and dragging Water-Sports behind her. Tinkerboy took Peter’s finger in his hands and started to pull him away, “Come on, Peter, we have to go.”

Peter looked back at Spank-Me, who hadn’t moved from the deck. Holding out his free hand, he stumbled forward, propelled by the fairy. When Spank-Me didn’t show any signs of following, he dug his heels in, managing to stop Tinkerboy’s progress. “You coming, or what?”

Spank-Me gave him a wink and shrugged, “I thought I’d stick around, have a little fun.”

Before Peter could ask what the hell that meant, Tinkerboy fluttered down to his shoulder and grabbed the collar of his shirt, hoisting him up into the air and away from the ship, Charles still swinging from the net, calling to him.

 

 

*****

 

 

“This is ridiculous!”

Tinkerboy swooped down from his branch and perched in midair, hands on his cocked hips in an over-exaggerated display of annoyance that Peter had become very familiar with over the last two days. “Peter…”

“No, it doesn’t matter how many push ups or laps I do. Two weeks is not enough time to get me into peak physical condition. It takes months and that’s time we do not have.”

“We’ve been over this. Time has no meaning in Everland.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, glaring. “You keep saying that. Everyone keeps saying that, but no one will explain it. What does that mean? Do we have more than two weeks? Why bother with measures of time if they don’t mean anything?”

Tinkerboy smiled mischievously, “Games are no fun with no measure. Time is a game. Two weeks is too long, not long enough, it all depends on you, Peter.”

Yelling never helped, but that didn’t stop him. Throwing the rock he’d been using as a weight aside, Peter stormed off to the stick and leaf hut some of the boys had built for him the first day. It was barely big enough for him to lie down in and he couldn’t sit up at all, but it did keep the wind out at night for the most part and it gave the false illusion of privacy.

Lying on the ground beside it, he sighed up at the veined underside of the leaves. This was all possibly the most ridiculous thing he had ever been a part of - and that included the time he and his college friends had gotten drunk and tried to break into the flat on Chelsea. Wendy would have been _so_ proud if he’d gotten himself arrested.

A chuckle slipped out before he could stop it. Actually, she probably would have. She was always encouraging him to be reckless, take chances, seize the moment, even when it got him in trouble.

Only this time, he wasn’t the only one in trouble. The smile that had begun to form dropped. Charles was being held in some pirate ship where the object of entertainment seemed to be young boys and he was, if not a boy, certainly a young man and certainly attractive enough.

Closing his eyes, he thought about the first time he and Charles had been together. The semester had only been in session for three weeks. Peter had noticed him before, sitting in the front row with his tousled brown hair partially blocking the view to those brilliant blue eyes and the sloppy, crooked smile that begged ‘fuck me.’

He’d been caught staring more than once and he wasn’t sure he even cared. Before he’d met Moira, he’d slept with plenty of men. Moira had been an experiment, but one that Wendy had approved of - more than she approved of him coming home late with glitter in his hair, smelling like alcohol and sex.

He hadn’t even been sure what he was doing when he proposed to her, other than it made Wendy smile and he liked it when she did that. She was all the mother he’d ever known, why shouldn’t he try to make her happy? There’d been some concern on the honeymoon as to whether he’d even be able to get it up, but he was a red blooded male and apparently, there were drugs out there that could help you with that.

Instant hetero, or something like that. It had worked the few times he’d tried it, then Moira ended up pregnant and he hadn’t needed it anymore. In fact, not pressuring her to have sex had made him the best husband ever.

Really, he felt bad about it. She was a nice girl and she deserved better, but Peter often did things without thinking them through. Like shagging Charles on his desk the night he came in asking for extra tutoring. That had probably been a bad idea, but the boy was so bloody hot and he’d been standing there with the cocky smile and that raised eyebrow and the way he’d sat, knees spread, hand splayed on his thigh suggestively... there was only so much Peter could resist.

Bringing the boy home for Christmas? That had been another one of those impulse moves that he probably should have resisted, but he wasn’t made of stone, and Charles knew his wife was pregnant, knew they had to be discrete and accepted it. His relationship with Charles wasn’t permanent, they both knew that, but he certainly cared for the boy and he couldn’t leave him in the clutches of some blood thirsty pirate on a strange island with fairies and Bondage Tribes and all sorts of other whatnot.

He had to get him out of there and to do that, he had to learn how to fight this… pirate, Captain Hooker, or whatever she called herself.

“Brooding, old man?”

Pushing up onto his elbows, Peter glared at the boy standing on the other side of the clearing. Rufi-Ho, great, the absolute bane of his existence for the past two days. An hour hadn’t gone by without the man-child poking at him with words and sometimes even swords. Rolling his eyes, he settled back down and ignored him in favor of the canopy view.

“I said, are you brooding?”

Lolled his head to the side, he raised his eyebrows, “Hardly. I’m wallowing in self pity, that’s entirely different.”

A chuckle slipped past Rufi-Ho’s lips before he could stop it and Peter smiled, “You’re almost pretty when you laugh.”

The would-be smile was instantly replaced with a sneer. “And there you go ruining it again.”

Rufi-Ho stepped toward him, but stopped several feet away, holding his head high and flaring his nostrils in what Peter assumed was meant to be a display of power. “I’m not pretty, old man.”

“And I’m not an old man, pretty boy.”

“Older than me.”

“There are a great many people out there older than you.”

Rufi-Ho knelt down where he was and Peter sat up, putting them at eye level. He looked at Peter sideways for a moment longer before the smile returned, not fully stretched or even half meant, but there. “Not so old you can not play the word games we used to.”

Peter sighed languorously, “I am not Peter-Hand. I have never met you before and I think I’d remember if I had.”

He made a show of moving his eyes over Rufi-Ho suggestively. He was seventeen, legal in some countries, nearly in others. Given another place, he would have been exactly Peter’s type. He loved a good barely legal piece of arse.

With his own, equally languorous sigh, Rufi-Ho stood. “Dinner’s ready when you are.”


	2. Chapter 2

Charles sat very stiffly at the table in Captain Hooker’s quarters and waited. He’d spent the past few days in the brig. It wasn’t so bad. They fed him and he was comfortable, at least after the initial sea sickness had worn off. He was never been particularly good with boats.

That afternoon, however, things had been different. The pirates had roused him, bathed him - rather a bit more forcefully than necessary - dressed him in clean clothes that were dated, but certainly finer than what he’d been wearing. Black trousers with a front flap indicative of a long ago era and a loose fitted white tunic shirt, bare feet, though and he thought that was probably a very calculated move on their part, because he couldn’t run away as affectively without some kind of footwear.

The Captain’s cabin was far more luxuriously appointed than the brig, as he might have guessed had he bothered thinking about it in the past two days. To be honest, he’d been more concerned with the way some of the men looked at him and whether he’d be able to fend them off if it came to that. He might have been a cock slut on some of his better days, but even at his lowest and most drunk, Charles had always had better taste than to sleep with someone who hadn’t seen a bath in several weeks. There were no beer goggles in the world that could mask that smell.

So, the Captain’s cabin was an improvement. Upon entering there was an opulent sitting area, with several chairs and a table strewn with maps and books and a canter of something that smelled like whiskey - the good stuff, not the cheap shite he’d sampled at the dorms. A small step led to a platform that ringed the sitting area, with bookshelves all around serving as a half wall. Straight ahead was a bed, a very large, ornate four poster monstrosity with a thick red and white quilt and at least six pillows that took up almost the entire top half. To the left of the bed was a half drawn curtain where Charles caught a glimpse of a bathtub, and to the right a small table and four chairs were bolted to the floor. Large windows and an extended bench rimmed the room on three sides, giving an impossibly beautiful view of the island, shadowed in the night sky.

It was all very romantic, he was sure, except for the part where he had been marched in, sat at a table, tied to the chair and left some twenty minutes ago. Well, he was assuming twenty minutes. Since he’d been on the ship, he had yet to see a clock. His own watch had been taken and smashed the moment he’d been brought on the board.

The door to the cabin was suddenly and loudly thrown open and Charles craned his neck back to see Captain Hooker standing in the entrance, hands on her hips, long black hair hanging in waves around her face. “Good evening, Charles! How are you doing?”

He shrugged as best he could, given his restraints. “Tied to a chair at the moment, thank you.”

She flashed him a sympathetic smile, “Splendid. I had the ship’s cook fix us something special for the evening. A rare delicacy on Everland - or just my ship, really. Have you ever had Merman?”

Charles wasn’t sure whether he should be offended at the idea of eating something that was half man, or the fact that this Captain seemed to think Mermen were real.   He decided that in the absence of a properly formed thought, he should keep his mouth shut.

Captain Hooker made her way to the platform and over to him, taking her seat across from him at the table and set her elbows on either side of her plate, staring at him in earnest. “Don’t be alarmed, Mermen aren’t ethereal creatures of beauty and kindness as one would tell a child. Actually, they are quite vicious, I assure you. I’ve lost several men hunting them before. Lucky for us one got trapped in the net just this morning.”

“Now, let’s have a proper look at you.” She reached a hand out and Charles considered biting her as she took his chin, turning his face this way and that, studying him, but he was tied to a chair and he couldn’t do much in the way of damage with just his teeth. “You look nothing like your father. Perhaps a little around the eyes, but even that… you must be the spitting image of your mother.”

The various crew members who brought his meals had said much the same and he’d tried to tell them he wasn’t Peter’s son. He’d explained over and over that Peter and him were only nine years apart and it was simply impossible, but it was always met with the same rebuke.

_“Time don’t mean nothing to Everland and Peter is Everland, as much a part of it as it is of him. Last we saw Peter he was hundreds of years old and only ten. Now he says he’s twenty seven. How many years did that take?”_

_“Seventeen. It takes seventeen years to age from ten to twenty seven.”_

_“Not if you’re the Hand.”_

_“…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”_

He gathered they couldn’t possibly be in London anymore, but they were still on the planet earth, the same rules still applied, no matter how barmy you were. Actually, he was almost grateful for all the time spent in the brig, because Charles was aware that he had a serious inability to control what came out of his mouth. His social worker had said it was because he was young, his guidance counselor had said it was because he had no respect, and Peter said it was endearing, but either way it had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. If he hadn’t spent the last few days trying and failing to talk sense into everyone below decks, he might have been unable to stop himself from mouthing off to this woman who fancied herself a captain.

Maybe she was a captain, what did he know.

Captain Hooker released his face and he ducked his head, refusing to meet her gaze as she talked. “Now, tell me about your father, Charles.”

A man walked in with a tray and set it down, placing plates of what looked like a fish filet and steamed vegetables in front of them, then used a knife to slice the ropes binding Charles’ right hand before stepping back and retreating from the room.

“Charles?”

He glanced up and forced a smile. “Yes, Peter, well… He’s a professor. He teaches at a school.”

Captain Hooker chuckled softly at that. “That does sound like Peter. There was nothing he loved more than taking in strays.”

That was exactly what Peter had said. When Charles had tried to insist that he didn’t want to upset Moira by staying at their home for Christmas, Peter had laughed and said, _“She’s used to it, I’m always taking in strays.”_

He shifted in the seat, frowning at the plate of what had to be fish, because Mermen didn’t exist. Using his free hand, he tentatively poked at the fish. Nothing they’d fed him thus far had been poisoned and if she wanted to roofie him, all the better, because he really wasn’t sure he wanted to remember this.

“So, what does our dear Peter teach?”

“History, predominantly. Although, he has a special place in his heart for the 1600's and especially…” he faltered for a moment as the thought caught up with him, “well, pirates, actually. He loves… pirates.”

He really hadn’t thought about it until now, Peter had loads of books on them, fictional and historical. He had a flag in his office, a genuine pirate flag that he’d paid a small fortune for and another small fortune to have it properly framed for preservation. There were swords and copies of a few rare manuscripts and there was even that one time Peter had dressed as a pirate, tied him to the desk and had his wicked way with Charles.

Captain Hooker sipped her wine. “Really? That is quite interesting. Enjoying your Merman?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Charles took a bite. It was interesting, if perhaps chewer than most fish he was used to eating, but that could have had something to do with the lack of modern cooking amenities. Although, considering it was cooked on a ship with no electricity, it was actually quite nice.

“Captain… Hooker, might I inquire… Where am I?”

Captain Hooker smiled amiably back. “I’ll make you a deal, Charles Hand.”

He closed his eyes for a moment to refrain from correcting her. “A deal?”

“Yes.” She sipped her wine. “You answer my questions and I’ll answer yours. Of course, you’ve already answered one of mine, so feel free to ask anything you’d like, but I warn you, I won’t lie.”

“Right. Um…” Charles took the wine in front of him and started to sip, then thought better and chugged. “Where am I?”

“Everland.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“I wouldn’t suppose you had.”

“Then where is it?”

“Ah, that’s another question.” She grinned at him over the rim of her glass and he waited. “Good boy. Your father was always such a mouthy little child. You, however? You are delightful. Does Peter have any lovers?”

Charles considered his answer carefully. He’d gathered this Captain Hooker had some sort of obsession with this Peter-Hand, going back to when he was a small boy – and really, that was quite disturbing when he stopped to think about it, so he tried not to. If he told them the truth of Moira back home, he’d be putting her and Peter’s unborn child in danger. If he tried to once again explain that Peter was in a relationship with him and that he was not Peter’s son, they most likely wouldn’t believe him. If he lied…

He looked at the woman sitting across from him and her cold, calculating eyes dark against her pale skin and the tight synch of the leather vest pressing her breasts up and forward. He got the feeling that if he lied, she would know, so he decided to go with the truth, but leave out the details.

“He has many lovers.”

She grinned widely and a pink tongue licked out against her lower lip. “Really? Male or female? Or both?”

The last word came out breathy with excitement and Charles shifted in his chair. “Um, both?”

“Is that a question or an answer, Charles?” Her smile hadn’t faded, but had become sharper.

“Mostly men.”

“I don’t suppose you would know what sort of fantasies your father harbors?”

“That’s two questions. Where is Everland?”

The smile softened again and Captain Hooker took a slice of carrot, pressing it into her mouth and chewing deliberately slowly before answering. “Everland is everywhere and nowhere. It’s in the night sky, where mortal eyes cannot perceive. It’s a dream and desire made reality by one boy.”

“That makes no sense.”

“And that, dear boy, is Everland. It makes no sense. It was dreamt by the mind of a ten year old boy more then hundreds of years ago, made real by the strength of his wishes and the magic of fairies.”

“A ten year old boy wished for a place where insane pedophilic pirates were constantly trying to get at his arse? I find that hard to believe.”

She laughed, full and unrestrained, sitting back in her chair with her plate barely touched and her wine glass full. “You are delightful, Charles. Simply delightful. No, he did not wish for that, not initially, but he got bored. Everland evolved with him and while his body stayed that of a small child, other parts of him matured. As he grew, the Bondage Tribe came into being, the Mermen found their way here, and I found myself sailing into this cove.”

With her good hand, she picked up her glass and raised it to him, sipping the red wine. “All of this, of course, is nothing more than stories told to me by the fairies we’ve captured. Not even Peter himself could confirm them. His memory has never been reliable and I think I might have been shocked had he actually remembered any of this when we took you and forced his return.”

Charles wiped his free hand over his face and sighed, “Then why bother? What is all of this about?”

“Revenge, dear boy, what else?” Captain Hooker held up the stump of her hand, the hook fashioned to it gleamed in the low light of the candles and Charles swallowed thickly. “Your father did this to me and for that, I will have him, but first I believe I should like to have a small, petty bit of revenge as an appetizer to the main course.”

Her eyes raked him up and down across the table and she stood. He hadn’t noticed her adornments before, too caught up in his predicament, but he did now. Her black tights clung to her body and under the leather vest strapped across her chest was a flowing white shirt of soft cotton that hung to mid thigh. It was simple and plain and compared to her regalia from two days ago, left him feeling as if he were looking at her half undressed already.

He stumbled over the words to express himself as she stepped on bare feet around the table to stand in front of him, leaning her arse back into the table. “No, this isn’t… I don’t… I’m sorry, I’m not attracted to women.”

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, her dark curls falling across her high cheekbones. “Oh?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I’m gay. I like men and you are, subjectively, an attractive woman, but nothing short of Viagra is going to make it possible for me to get it up for you.”

For a long moment, he hoped it had worked, because the idea that she might drug him into this wasn’t out of the question. Then, she braced her hands on the table and lifted one foot, setting it on the chair between his thighs, her toes brushing against his flaccid penis.

“Charles…”

“Oh god, please, I can’t…” His chest tightened at the thought of what she might do if he honestly couldn’t get it up.

“Charles.” He stopped at the command, looking up at her imploringly, begging her to understand that it wasn’t her, he just liked cock. Really, really liked cock and she had a vagina and that just wasn’t going to work, no matter how much he might be currently wishing it would, just so she wouldn’t kill him.

“Charles, look at me.” For a moment, he was confused, then her hand moved off the table, sliding along her hip and down to tug the shirt up. Her other hand snaked forward as well, cupping the inside of her thigh. Or, actually, not the inside of her thigh and Charles felt his head tip as he eyed the large bulge pressing into the thin black fabric, trapped against her thigh. _His_ thigh?

“You’re…”

“I’m neither and both. I have breasts and the delicate features of a woman, but there’s nothing of a woman between my legs.”

No there certainly wasn’t. Charles couldn’t manage to take his eyes off the increasingly impressive erection Captain Hooker was fondling.

“But… how?”

“I’ve no idea. I was a man, the Captain of a ship, feared and respected by many. I pillaged and plundered and took what I wanted when I wanted it. Then I woke up here, a woman, but not. As I’ve said, Everland is a place of dreams and desires and it was Peter’s desire that brought me here. He wanted a mother, a father, and a challenge and Everland’s fairies gave him all of that in me. It didn’t work out the way he’d intended, I’m sure” she huffed out a small laugh, “or perhaps it did. Peter has quite the Oedipus complex.”

“Really?” Charles shifted in his chair again, wishing his legs were free so he could move away from Hooker’s foot where it pressed into his own burgeoning erection. Wishing his other hand was free so he could scoot forward and press his lips against what was at least twelve inches of thick girth hanging heavily three feet away from him.

“Oh, yes. He brought over Wendy to be his mother and the mother of his boys, but called himself father. It was entirely untoward, I assure you.” The hand holding up the shirt moved to press a finger under Charles’ chin, forcing him to look up into her amused smile. “Now, shall I have my guards restrain you, or do you believe you can manage to behave yourself?”

Charles blinked up at her, fully aware that he had been kidnapped, locked in a cell, threatened with death, and was about to be raped. He should have been fighting, he should have been yelling obscenities, he should, at the very least, be biding his time until he had a chance at escape.

He wasn’t doing any of that, because he hadn’t been lying when he’d called himself a cock slut and his mouth was practically watering at the idea of getting his lips around the head of the impressive specimen being offered to him.

“Can you be a good boy, Charles?”

His arse clenched in anticipation and he nodded eagerly. Charles was going to be a very good boy.

 

 

*****

 

 

Meals were taken around a large rectangular table made from half a large tree trunk, set low to the ground and covered with wooden platters and bowls of berries, fruits, breads, and juice. When asked where they got the food from, none of the boys would answer him and Tinkerboy would speak in riddles.

_“We have what we want, because we want what we need. Hungry, Peter?”_

In the week since he had begun training, Peter had watched the boys with growing unease and amusement. They were young, ranging between thirteen and fifteen years of age, with the exception of Rufi-Ho. Being seventeen and still a Lust Boy, Peter gathered he was something of an anomaly. They ate and played mostly, had pretend adventures and rolled around in the dirt together in a manner that was part innocent and part something else.

The twin, Spits and Swallows, delighted in playing pranks, especially on Fondles, who was apparently incredibly shy and the newest member of would-be family. Peter had asked how long he’d been there, but Fondles had only blushed and said, “Forever and a decade,” before running off to hide for the day and Peter had given up trying to understand anything that went on there.

Instead of chairs at the table, there were pillows, large cushions that were over stuffed and faded with age and use. After dinner, the children took their pillows with them to sit in a pile of youth and listen to Tinkerboy tell stories of the Hand while they listened in almost reverent silence.

Peter sat on the other side of the small clearing that acting as a common area, his sitting pillow tightly clenched between thighs and chest, listening to the sounds of the nature around him instead of the hushed and breathless whisper of Tinkerboy’s story telling.

“Old man.”

He tipped his head up and to the side to see Rufi-Ho standing several feet away. He’d noticed the eldest boy never stayed around for those stories. As the others laid half on top of each other, Rufi-Ho invariable went to his treetop home with a sulking pout on his lower lip that said he wasn’t any more fond of them then Peter was.

“Pretty boy.”

Rufi-Ho grabbed a spare faded red cushion from the pile of extras kept in the back corner near where Peter was hiding and sat down, cross legged, looking at Peter inquisitively.

They’d gotten rid of the trousers and button up he’d been wearing upon his arrival and replaced them with soft animal skin short, a pair of navy blue leggings under them and a lose fitted white cotton shirt. They were old world and comfortable, but he wanted his old clothes back and his old life.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted parts of his old life back. Like electricity and steak. He wondered if it were possible to get malnourished in this place.

A hand touched his face and Peter jerked back, stopping short as he realized it was Rufi-Ho touching him. The boy kept his hand in the air where it had been and after a moment, Peter relaxed back into place and let the boy run it over his cheek, the topmost shell of his ear, his sandy blond hair, and over the line of his shoulders.

Rufi-Ho sighed, his hand dropping, “Sometimes I think…”

Peter waited, but when Rufi-Ho said nothing more, he pressed for it. “What? What do you think?

“I think you could be him.” The bright moonlight lit Rufi-Ho’s face in shadow and Peter reached his own hand out, following the same path Rufi-Ho had. Over a high cheek bone, along an ear, under strands of dark, red tipped hair that had fallen from their Mohawk through the day, played his fingers in the strands, rolling the red ends in the pads of his fingers, surprised by how soft they were. He let his hand linger a little longer down the boy’s tan neck, the pulse points beating hard under his thumb before moving to the nearly delicate slant of undeveloped shoulder.

Letting his own hand drop, he caught the almost smile on Rufi-Ho’s full lips and matched it with one of his own. “Sometimes, Rufi-Ho, I wish I was.”

Peter-Hand, whoever that was, had value there. Peter Humphrey did not. Peter Humphrey was a Professor who lived a lie he’d created to appease the woman he called mother. A woman who had died six months ago and now he was stuck in it, because he couldn’t imagine a way out. Peter Humphrey had sex with students in his office and pretended that was enough. It wasn’t, he’d known that even before he asked Charles to come home with him for the holidays.

He was tired of hiding who he was and tired of looking at things he couldn’t have except behind closed doors. He wanted…

A pillow smashed into his face and he fell back onto his elbows, surprised out of his thoughts and staring at Rufi-Ho’s laughing face. With narrowed eyes and a smile, he picked the pillow up and swung it back. Rufi-Ho dodged and gave a triumphant laugh that was cut short as another pillow caught him in the side of the head, knocked him over into the stack of spare cushions.

There was a momentary pause as they assessed each other in the dim light, both smiling anticipatory smiles, hands clenched around their newfound weapons, waiting for the other to make a move.

Before they could, a loud whoop from the other side the room caught their attention and Don’t-Ask, held his pillow up and announced, “Pillow fight!”

Rufi-Ho took the distraction and launched himself at Peter and into the sudden frenzy of soft cotton and long arms and legs and Peter found himself laughing for the first time in a week.

 

 

*****

 

 

The next morning, Peter woke sore. Knobby knees and elbow had been shoved in places that were tender and easily bruised. He didn’t need to lift his shirt or shuck his pants to know a patchwork of yellow and dark blue littered his chest, legs and back. Still…

He sighed up at the intertwined sticks that made the top of his hut. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that. Certainly not since his early days with Wendy, when he had been ten years old and suffering from the kind of amnesia that would never be cured.

Ten years old, the same age they all said Peter-Hand had been.

Maybe he was or had been Peter. There was the birthmark Suck-Me had pointed out to Captain Hooker and the scars on his lower legs and back that doctors had said looked like knife wounds. Perhaps they were from swords. Perhaps Captain Hooker had gotten a few lucky swipes when Peter was flying away from her.

He laughed to himself at the thought. Right, flying – except… except in this place there were fairies. Little men with wings and an aura colored to reflect their emotions. Was the idea that Peter-Hand, whether him or someone else, had been able to fly that absurd?

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed. Of course, it was, the whole thing was. In fact, he was fairly certain this last week had been one long, convoluted dream brought on by the stress of Charles’ kidnapping.

Swiveling around, Peter got onto his hands and knees and made his way out of the hut, looking around at the bright, early afternoon sky. Above him, the other boys were moving around the rope bridges between their treetop huts, talking and laughing, chasing each other recklessly. A blur of sparkling pink shot between the twins as they chased Fondles into a thick patch of leaves at the far side of the grove, probably heading toward the hanging ropes to slide down into the common area.

He made his way to the watering hole a few feet away and splashed cool water over his face, looking down at himself curiously. Only one week and he hardly recognized his reflection. His hair was wild and ruffled around his face, his skin slightly tanned, making his pale green eyes stand out like the leaves of the trees that surrounded him.

With a sigh, he passed his hand through the reflection and turned to look back up. Rufi-Ho’s hut was barely visible, but he watched it for a moment, waiting for signs the boy was still in there. He’d disappeared at some point during the pillow fight and Peter couldn’t shake it from his head that there was something he was missing.

He followed the line of bridges and ladders to the largest little building that was Peter-Hand’s room. It sat overlooking everything, the other huts, the crystal blue ocean…

_“I’ll be able to see everything from up here, Tinkerboy!”_

Peter started at the voice and looked around, already knowing there was no one there, because that was his voice. Young and immature and excited.

_“Not everything, Peter.”_

_“But everything that matters. We’ll put one over there for you.”_

_“I’d rather sleep with you.”_

_“Then I’ll put a hammock in my room.”_

Peter didn’t realize he’d moved until he found himself high in the trees, standing in the doorway and looking around the room.

A small window sat on the side facing the sunrise over tree tops, the door on the other allowing a spectacular view of the sunset over the waters of the endless ocean. The walls were made of twigs and vines and in one corner was a small hammock hanging near the ceiling.

_Tinkerboy lounges there, spilling pink and purple sparkles of contentment down the leg hanging off one side, his high pitched little voice filling the cabin with words to a made up song._

_Yo, Ho, all together, hoist your legs in the air_

_Heave ho, thieves and beggars, you’ll never catch us there._

_Yo, Ho, Captain Hooker, is coming for your arse_

_Heave ho, Peter-Hand, you’d better run and fast._

_He mouths along to them, his own ten-year-old voice once again ringing in his ears. It’s an old sea shanty they heard Captain Hooker men singing on board the vessel that had appeared in the harbor a week ago – a pirate song about raising a flag, only he’s twisted and changed the words and he and Tinkerboy laugh and sing it again._

Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by the empty little hammock sitting in the empty little room.

Under the hammock, pressed into the corner, was a large mound of navy blue cushions and a rumpled heap of blankets in grey and teal and orange. Peter took the three steps over and pulled out the orange one, running fingers through the well-worn cotton it felt… familiar. Familiar and comforting.

_The pillows are everywhere, covering the floor and he hovers just above them, his back to the ground, his feet flexing from toe to heel at the ceiling while he talks. Rufi-Ho is there listening to him spin tails of early days. Of cutting off Captain Hooker’s hand and feeding it to a crocodile and Rufi-Ho is wide eyed and eager and leaning closer to Peter, his lower lip pulled between teeth, his chin tucked against drawn up knees and his smiles big and bright and open._

Then he blinked and he was staring at an empty room again.

Running heedless onto the balcony, he looked down and the rush of memory was as breath taking as the rush he’d felt trying to catch the arm of a boy he’d thought might fall to his death for carelessness a week ago.

_Everyone is holding hands in a circle on the forest floor. A young girl in a flowing white linen gown with mousy brown hair in tangles is surrounded by boys in leather as they all sing Ring Around the Rosy._

_“Wendy, what nonsense are you up to?”_

_She’s beaming at him, “Nothing and everything!”_

_“That’s my girl!” And he grabs at the rope ladder, prepared to swing down and join her._

Then he blinked and the clearing was empty.

Tinkerboy flew to him and hovered by his cheek, flitted in front of his face. “Peter?”

Peter looked at him and a smile slowly stretched his mouth. “I remember.”

“Remember what?”

He focused on the tiny man and the orange tint to his aura that meant confusion, trepidation, caution, the slight yellow hew of it adding hope. “Everything. Tinkerboy, I remember everything! Everything and… everything and nothing.”

Because there was too much, too many memories. He’d guess there were hundreds, maybe even thousands of years and he’d look at something and remember a strange little detail and almost, but not completely forget it a moment later, because he couldn’t remember it all at once or he’d go mad. Maybe he was already mad. Maybe he’d always been mad.

“I’m… oh, god, I’m Peter-Hand!”

One of the boys came out of his hut and Peter smiled broadly. Don’t-Ask, the surely little fourteen year old he’d found crying in an alleyway in west London. The twins! He’d picked up the twins where they’d been housed after their home was bombed and their parents and sister had died. Fondles, then a decade ago, he’d found him hiding from his uncle in a closet. Sleepless was a twitchy child that couldn’t stop moving, never stopped moving until he crashed for sometimes an entire day at a time. He still did that. Rufi-Ho…

He looked over to the vined bridge connecting his hut with the next – Rufi-Ho’s hut and he wasn’t sure how he knew, but Rufi-Ho was in there. It was almost like he could feel him. No, he could feel all of them, the whole island inside him.

Running across the bridge, Peter slid into Rufi-Ho’s hut onto his knees, ignoring the dazed blink of the boy half covered in sleeping blankets and barely awake. “I remember!”

Rufi-Ho twisted his head to the side, sneer on his face, “Remember what, old man?”

_The factory is dirty and dark and abandoned and the boy who’s nearly a man sits in a corner on a pallet of thin blankets, half starved and staring back at Peter with a strange kind of disbelief and Peter kneels in front of him, curious, “Who are you?”_

_“No one.”_

_“You’re pretty, for someone so old.”_

_“I’m not old, I’m seventeen!”_

_“Older then me.”_

_“A lot of people are older then you.”_

“You knew.” Peter scooted forward, ignoring the sudden tension in Rufi-Ho’s body in the way he sat up, moving himself an inch away from Peter in the process. “You knew I was me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

After a moment, the sneer deepened. “You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“I might’ve done.”

“No, you grew up. You went out there and you forgot…”

The hitch of his breath said there was more to that sentence. It was complete and yet un-ended.

_The room is dark and Peter hangs upside down in the doorway, watching Rufi-Ho and smiling at him in the moonlight. “It was a good battle today. You fought well. Saved the damsel in distress.”_

_“I nearly got myself captured by pirates.”_

_“No.” Peter hooks his fingers on the top of the frame and pulls himself in, flipping until his feet touch the ground in a crouch. “If you hadn’t risked what you did, we would all have gotten caught trying to get Rubbers back.”_

_Rufi-Ho’s shoulders slump. “I’m too old to be here. I’m older then all of you, I…”_

_Peter holds a finger to Rufi-Ho’s lips and keeps smiling, because maybe Rufi-Ho is right, maybe he is too old. He’d been on the verge of turning eighteen, only a few weeks left when Peter brought him over and Everland is a place of dreams and imagination. That’s why the Lust Boys always win and the Pirates always lose. The pirates can’t imagine the impossible, Peter and his boys can, but that’s something age takes with it._

_Rufi-Ho is nearly two years older then the next oldest and two years doesn’t seem like a lot, but Peter often finds it makes the difference between one of his boys deciding to join the pirates or the Bondage Tribe rather than staying in the forest with him. Rufi-Ho hasn’t left, but sometimes Peter’s afraid he wants to and Peter doesn’t want that. Peter wants him to stay right there and he thinks his will may be the only thing keeping Rufi-Ho from leaving, almost hopes he’s right, because the idea that he has that kind of influence over Rufi-Ho, that Rufi-Ho_ lets _him have that kind of influence… It makes him think adult thoughts._

That was seventeen years and a lifetime ago. Sitting in front of Rufi-Ho now, Peter felt ten again. Uncertain of himself and what he was feeling. Uncertain of what his next move should be, small compared to this man/child sitting in front of him with all the knowledge of the world and still enough innocence to be brought here and stay with them.

“I forgot you.” Without letting himself think anything past the moment, Peter leaned forward and brushed his lips against Rufi-Ho’s and they were full and warm, but lax and unresponsive. “How could I ever forget you?”

A laugh huffed against his mouth and Rufi-Ho’s hand grasped Peter’s shoulder, not pulling him closer, but not pushing him away. “You forget everything.”

“I forget nothing. I just can’t… it’s too much. I can’t keep it all here all at once, but I shouldn’t have forgotten you, I’m sorry.” He caught Rufi-Ho’s chin with his finger and tipped his head up, looking into his dark eyes. “You thought I didn’t know.”

_It’s long looks on dark nights and longer ones in daylight when they’re bathing. It’s throwing himself recklessly in front of Peter in battle in an attempt to keep him safe, when Peter doesn’t really need the saving, but Rufi-Ho does, because he’s young enough to be there by Peter’s side, but old enough to have feelings the other boys don’t. Peter knows, because he has them too. Thousands or hundreds of years and he has feelings, but he’s also ten and he doesn’t know how to understand what those feelings mean._

“You were ten, Peter. You could be lewd and suggestive, but you were still only ten.”

“I’m not ten anymore.”

When he moved in this time, Rufi-Ho met him with the same fervor, the same desperate hunger and Peter thought… no, he knew…

_He sits on the floor of the little nursery, Wendy in the rocking chair and his head is in her lap and she’s a mother now and a grandmother, with a granddaughter of eight asleep in a bed across the room._

_“I don’t know what to do, Wendy.”_

_She strokes his hair and it feels like love. “About what?”_

_“I think… I think I like him, but I don’t know what that means and if I did, I don’t think he could like me back. Not as I am.”_

_Her hand stops. “What do you mean by that?”_

_“As a child.” He looks up and her face is drawn with concern and her hand has moved to the side of his cheek. “Can I stay here? Tinkerboy says Everland won’t let me grow up. It doesn’t want me to, but I want to, just a little. A few years, maybe four and then…”_

_And then Rufi-Ho won’t look so guilty when Peter catches him staring. Then they can lay together and Rufi-Ho won’t hesitate to touch him or kiss him. Then Peter won’t feel so alone when he’s with him._

_Wendy smiles sadly, like she knows something and he wishes he knew it, too, but he thinks maybe it’s one of those grown up things he’ll only understand if he does stay and he wants to. He wants to for Rufi-Ho, he wants to for himself._

Only he’d woken up the next morning and hadn’t remembered Rufi-Ho or Everland or any of it. He’d been a scared normal little boy. Well, perhaps not normal, but he hadn’t been Peter-Hand, either. Wendy had adopted him, she’d told him stories of Everland, perhaps hoping it would bring back his memories, but it never had. He’d grown, become a man, a lover, a professor of history, a husband, and was on his way to being a father and it all should have felt like… like more. More then this, but this – Rufi-Ho spreading his legs to allow Peter to get between them, to push him down onto his back, mouths still hungrily devouring each other – this felt like everything.

Peter dropped a hand to Rufi-Ho’s hip, finding the string to the loincloth and opening the knots with the practice of more years then he could count. He tossed it to the side and Rufi-Ho thrust up against him as Peter’s hand slid from the boy’s face back down his chest, around his waist and over his hip, feeling the lacework of leather straps that wove up the side of Rufi-Ho’s legs. He worked three fingers under them, squeezing the silky skin of the strong thigh and Rufi-Ho moaned softly into his mouth, encouraging him.

“Pe’er.”

He thrust his tongue in and was met eagerly for a moment before Rufi-Ho’s hands took his face and pulled him back, “Peter, I’m sorry, but…”

Peter rocked his hips against the boy’s and Rufi-Ho’s eyes rolled slightly before he shook his head.

“No, no, Peter, you have to remember. You’re already forgetting and you have to remember.”

“Remember what? I remember you. I remember things I wanted to do to you. Things I didn’t understand. I know them now.” He shifted the hand on Rufi-Ho’s thigh and lifted it up, bending the knee and let his hand move lower, cupping Rufi-Ho’s arse, tips of two fingers brushing against his crack and felt the hitch in the boy’s breath against his chest. “I know all of them. I want to show them to you.”

“Okay, Peter,” Rufi-Ho wiggled out from under him and Peter let him, because he wasn’t sure what game the other boy was playing but there had never been a game with Rufi-Ho he didn’t like, so certainly… “Charles. Peter, remember Charles.”

“Charles?”

Charles? Wide blue eyes and dark hair and a smile that promised wickedness and… and a text book and a desk and… “Charles!”

How had he forgotten? No, no that wasn’t right. Of course, he’d forgotten, he was in Everland, he’d gotten all of his memories back and those brief seventeen years had been drowning in the hundreds or more that came before it.

“I have to save Charles.” Rufi-Ho’s eyes darkened and he looked away briefly and Peter took the boy’s hand and smiled. “I have to save him. I have to take him home before I come back to you.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Rufi-Ho relaxed and nodded, “We will save your Charles and then you will keep your promise?”

“My promise?”

“To show me everything.”

Peter leaned forward, tracing Rufi-Ho’s full lower lip with his tongue suggestively, “We save Charles and then I keep my promise.”

 

 

*****

 

 

Charles lay in the thick blankets of Captain Hooker’s bed and sighed happily, burying his face in silk and downy softness. His arse was pleasantly sore, his wrists red from spending nearly the entirety of the previous day tied to the headboard and his throat was so fucked out, he wasn’t sure what his voice would sound like if he tried to talk past moans and pleas, but it certainly wouldn’t sound like him.

Captain Hooker was in the bath, washing himself in steaming water. It never stayed hot for long, but when he was done, he’d have the men refill it for Charles – one of the many luxuries of being Captain Hooker’s personal bed warmer. He’d thought cabin boy might be a better title for him, but apparently Water-Sports had that title – at least for now – and Suck-Me got man servant, so he was stuck with bed warmer.

He also got clean clothes, more extravagant meals then the rest of the crew – warm meals at that, which Suck-Me assured him was not something regular crew saw often – and, of course, Captain Hooker’s cock up his ass and down his throat several times a day. A side affect of Everland, Captain Hooker had assured him. Vitality was increased, libido insatiable. Between rounds three and four on day one of being confined to the bed for services, Charles decided to believe him.

He’d silently added an increase in his body’s ability to recover and heal, because within an hour of being laid open with one of the largest butt plug attachments and fucked into the bed until he was begging to cum a third time, Charles had found himself able to sit comfortable at the table for breakfast.

“Charles.”

He rolled on his back, looking up at the wooden beams of the ceiling for a moment before turning to face Captain Hooker.

“Join me.”

He considered saying no, but a bath sounded lovely after a night spent… well, getting spent.

Sitting up, he was pleasantly surprised to find the soreness had already faded to a pleasant sort of ache. His experience in the last five days said that it would be gone completely within an hour’s time and as he sat in the steaming water, positioning himself with his back to the Captain, leaning his head against the smaller man’s shoulder, it soothed away the ache in his other muscles as well. Legs, arms, back, everything becoming lose and relaxed.

The Captain took the soap and rubbed it in circled over Charles chest and he moaned, feeling oddly conflicted by the press of soft breasts between his shoulder blades and the brush of stiffening cock at his lower back. It had been a strange five days. In fact, when compared to all other events that had taken place in his life, Charles now found himself laughing at the idea that he had ever thought of anything else that ever happened to him as strange.

He was on a magical island, where people never aged. There were pirates and Mermen – and, yes, he had actually seen a Merman and while he was thoroughly disgusted with himself and Captain Hooker for having made him eat one, he did have to admit it was fairly tasty – fairies and an entire tribe of people into bondage.

Not to mention what the captain referred to as the Lust Boys – Peter-Hand’s rag-tag crew of post-pubescent boys who ran around the woods making a nuisance of themselves. Everland had brought Captain Hooker there to be a challenge, so a challenge he would be. He hunted the boys, captured one every so often, and used them as bait to lure Peter out. The goal, of course, being that one day, he would get his hook into Peter-Hand and have his way with him.

_“Do you know, Charles, why we call him Peter-Hand?”_

_“No, but I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”_

_A tongue ran up his back and teeth sank into his neck, just behind his ear and Charles shivered._

_“The only thing that can please The Hand is The Hand himself.”_

_Charles huffed into the overstuffed pillow, “Not anymore.”_

_Hooker’s hand latched onto Charles shoulder and turned him onto his back. He let himself lay still and pliant, his arms arranged above his head._

For having such a small, womanly figure, the captain was strong. He half wondered if Everland hadn’t allowed him to keep the strength he’d had as a man to make the fight more challenging for Peter. Why not? It was a magical island made by fairies to sate the dreams of a single, never aging boy. It didn’t have to make sense and it never did.

Like now. Charles was completely and totally, one hundred percent gay. Most teenagers he’d met, gay and straight, had said that with enough stimulus and motivation they could probably get it up for the opposite of their sexual orientation. They’d even be able to have sex with him or her if they wanted to, because they were teenagers. Sometimes the goat on old man Jasper’s yard looked like it might do in a pinch.

Not Charles. Charles had never had the slightest stir for a girl. Not even when Henrietta Baxter had gotten her hand down his pants and said she wanted to suck his brains out of his cock. Not even then, because she was a girl and okay, maybe if he’d gotten out one of the gay magazines he kept hidden under the bed and buried his face in it, he could have managed to for queen and country, but he hadn’t suggested that at the time, because he didn’t have any interest.

Captain Hooker, though? Face of a woman, breasts that were soft and squishy and kind of fun to play with in a platonic way, shouldn’t have turned him on in the slightest, except there was the matter of the not so slight part of said captain that stood firm and stiff and pretty bloody impressive between muscled legs.

So, yes, Charles could blame it on being cock hungry, but the truth was, even he had to admit getting it up for what was essentially three fourths of a woman was a little strange for him. It was Everland, though, and stranger things happened. Things like twenty-seven year old History Professors hanging upside down in the large bay window of Captain Hooker’s room, watching them in the bath with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

He blinked in surprise, but then Peter wasn’t there. He looked back, but Hooker only smiled at him, eyes focused down at Charles’ bare chest where the hand was making lazy circles around his nipple before brushing over it, then wondering down between his legs, washing him thoroughly until every part of Charles stood at attention.

Perhaps Peter had never been there to begin with.

A light tap on the door was the only warning before Suck-Me came in, his eyes averted at the ceiling as he stumbled over the raised platform, “You’re, um, needed on deck, Cap’n.”

The Captain raked his Hook gently from Charles navel, up his abdomen and let it catch on his nipple, making his stomach twist pleasantly. “I think I should like to decorate you here.”

Charles hummed happily at the suggestion.

“Cap’n.”

“I heard you, Suck-Me. Send Water-Sports in to attend me. You, get out of the bath and get dressed, you’ll be coming with me.”

It was the first time in five days Charles had been allowed outside the cabin and he considered asking why, but thought better of it. It didn’t really matter why, it would just be nice to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. Hooker hadn’t let him open the windows in the last few days and hadn’t been inclined to explain the mandate to Charles. Or, rather, he was very good at distracting Charles from following the line of questioning when it came up.

The only clothes he’d been allowed thus far were oversized tunics in every shade but white. He’d worn black, brown, blue, red, even purple, but never white, not since the first night. As he toweled himself off, Water-Sports laid out clothes for him on the bed before going to help the Captain cinch into his corset.

Charles eyed the white tunic thoughtfully before pulling it over his head and smiled happily at the black tights that had been laid out under it. They weren’t trousers, but at least he wouldn’t be running around the deck bare assed as he had been in the cabin. There were no shoes, however, and he threw Captain Hooker a sour face he sat on the bed, bare foot, watching Water-Sports tighten the thigh high black healed monstrosities.

“Why do you get footwear and I can’t even have my sneakers back?”

“Because I don’t intend to run away.”

“I wouldn’t…” he stopped himself, his mouth half open for the rest of the sentence that he hadn’t realized he was going to say and wasn’t sure if he meant. No, actually, he was sure. In that moment, he had meant it.

The Captain gave him an easy smile, nudging Water-Sports out of the way with the tip of one boot as he tied off the last of the fastening. “You wouldn’t what, my sweet little boy?”

He huffed, ignoring the fact that even with the heels on, Hooker stood only at the same height as Charles himself. One small man with breasts the size of cantaloupe should not make him feel so incredibly small.

“I’m not sweet and I’m not little.”

“But you are mine?”

Heat flared in his cheeks, but before he could attempt a witty retort, the door to the cabin opened again and Suck-Me stood at the entrance, this time looking at them, wringing his hat in his hands nervously. “Cap’n, I…”

“Don’t bother, we’re coming.” Charles was propelled off the bed by a hand on the back of his neck, not gripping, but nudging and he moved with it, feet thudding on the polished wooden deck, Water-Sports trailing behind them.

Charles hadn’t been sure what he thought of the man when he’d first met him. He was older then Charles by at least three years and he walked around in a black leather thong and collar and Charles thought, at the very least, the captain had to be fucking him. He wasn’t, though. Actually, no one was. He appeared to just stand by the door looking pretty and ‘attending’ Hooker in getting dressed or undressed and making sure no uninvited guests entered.

When asked, Water-Sports had just rolled pretty grey eyes under thick dark lashes, like the answer was obvious; but really, Charles was going to have to ask Hooker soon, because he was finding his intrigue turning to annoyance at never getting a straight answer from anyone. At least Hooker had no problem rewording his riddles until Charles had something vaguely resembling an answer, or fucking him into the mattress until he didn’t care. He’d take either one at this point.

The first thing Charles noticed as they stepped out the door was the smell. Dear god, he’d forgotten about the smell. The rosewater scent of the Captain’s quarters had lulled him into forgetting that the rest of the ship was filled with grizzled men who bathed once every few weeks if they had a mind and sometimes not even that.

Pressing himself closer to Hooker, he breathed in the man’s freshly bathed body and let his senses slowly come to terms with the assault. After a moment, his eyes stopped watering and he was able to breath without choking on it.

Captain Hooker chuckled and gave the back of his neck a fond squeeze. “You get used to it.”

“God, I hope not.” When no further response was forthcoming, Charles pressed, “So, why are we out here?”

“You mean, why are you out here?”

He shrugged, “I suppose.”

Hooker leaned in, soft black curls tickling Charles’ cheek as the man pressed lips next to his ear, “I thought you might like to see your father.”

“My…?”

Above them, an exuberant cry of, “Charles!” caught his attention and he looked up, startled into silence by the vision of Peter, floating above the mast. Flying, actually, he was flying. Good god, Peter was flying!

Peter flew in a large spiral around the mast, coming to rest of a pole just out of reach of the pirates. “Charles, I came for you!”

Charles tried to think of a response, but his words had stuck in his throat. If he didn’t know it was Peter, he wouldn’t have recognized him. He was wearing tights and small leather shorts, an open vest with no shirt under, and a baldric of vines across his chest held a small sword at his hip. His blond hair was wild and un-brushed, sticking up and out at all angles. Peter’s green eyes, which had always been striking, were shining in a way that was positively unnatural. Even his skin had taken on a healthy tanned glow it hadn’t had a before.

He grinned at Charles, who was struck by how young he looked – twenty-two or three, at most, but even more was the juvenile glee in his posture, crouched on the balls of his feet on the pole, leaning dangerously forward, like he wasn’t afraid to fall, one hand holding loosely to the mast and his smile… he had the air of a child playing a game.

Which gave Charles another realization; one he’d been on the verge of recognizing before, but was pushed into by seeing his lover like this. Peter as a professor, an authority figure to be respected, someone who held Charles’ grades in his hands, had been attractive. He’d made Charles hard just thinking about him. Peter as this flippant fun loving boy? He wasn’t nearly so attractive. Oh, Charles would have gone there in a heart beat if he didn’t have anything else lined up, the man was still dashingly attractive, but when compared to his other persona, Charles would have taken a pass.

Then there was Hooker, who had locked Charles in a cabin for five days, threatened his life, fucked him senseless without really asking permission, tied him to the bed on more then one occasion, ordered him around, and called him a bed warmer like it was both an insult and a privilege and that? That made Charles ache for more. He liked the authority Hooker had over him. He liked being taken. He liked being told what to do.

“Peter…”

Captain Hooker pressed the flat of his hook against Charles chest, pushing him back to Suck-Me and Water-Sports who stood by the cabin door and immediately took his arms. Not tightly, they didn’t seem to think he was going to make a run for it, but enough to let him know he should stay where he’d been put and now really wasn’t an appropriate time to get half hard over being manhandled.

With a triumphant smile, Hooker drew his sword, “So, Peter-Hand, you’ve come back to me.”

“I’ve come back for my Charles.”

Charles looked at Suck-Me, who was watching his Captain with adoring, squinty little eyes and tried to interject again, “Peter, this really isn’t…”

A sword swung around, the tip landing again his collar bone, catching there. “Charles, you will be quiet and allow me and your father to talk.”

Now he was fully erect and if his arms hadn’t been restrained, he would have rubbed himself to ease some of the ache. Honestly, he’d just had the kind of orgasm that left him seeing little white spots in front of his eyes and his body was perfectly fine with going again just because the man he’d been sleeping with had shoved a sword at his chest. He really was all kinds of buggered, wasn’t he?

The Captain turned back to Peter, who was brandishing his own, much smaller sword and now standing half up the stairs leading from the main deck to the balcony off the captain’s room.

Charles opened his mouth to try and interrupt them again, perhaps get in enough words this time to express how very much this didn’t need to happen, because even if Peter won, Charles wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to leave. No, actually, he was very much sure he didn’t.

A tug on his arm stopped him and he looked over to see Water-Sports shaking his head. “Don’t bother.”

In the entire five days he’d been there, Water-Sports hadn’t spoken once and Charles tugged his arm out of the dual grips, turning to look at the other man. “Why not?”

“Captain Hooker has been waiting for this battle for seventeen years.”

“But Peter…”

“That’s not the same Peter that was here a mere week ago. Don’t tell me you can’t see the difference.” Of course Charles could see it. A blind man could have seen it. Or, well, heard it, but it all added up to the same thing. That wasn’t Peter Humphrey. “That is Peter-Hand and he lives for this.”

Hooker lunged, Peter parried and dodged, flew in the air and flipped behind the captain as he came down the steps to stand on the main deck where the other pirates had all cleared a wide berth. Peter crouched on the ground, dimpled grin splitting his face.

“Run, run as fast you can, you can’t catch me, ‘cause I’m the Hand.”

Oh really, that didn’t even rhyme properly.

The Captain thrust forward again, sneering as it deflected off Peter’s sword and Peter stood, backing up along the deck, unconcerned by the pirates behind him, who parted as they traded blows, sword to sword.

Charles twitched with a desperate need to get between them. Not that he was sure exactly what that would accomplish, but he felt he should try something before someone got hurt.

“I said, don’t bother.”

He shifted sideways, glaring at Water-Sports, who simply shrugged and Charles seethed, “Someone could get hurt. Those are actual swords. Pointy swords.”

Water-Sports frowned for a moment, head cocked curiously, before he opened his mouth in a silent ‘o,’ “You realize this is Everland.”

“Of course, I realize this is Everland. What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

“There’s nothing they can do to each other that won’t heal. You’ve experienced this yourself. Unless you’d have me believe you regularly take a fist up your arse and can walk around without so much as a limp within the hour.”

Okay, yeah, he had noticed that. He’d enjoyed that side effect of being on an enchanted island – dear, god, he was on an _enchanted island_ , the thought never failed to give him pause – but he’d doubted that rule applied to sword fighting.

Captain Hooker got in a lucky strike, nicking Peter’s vest just over his heart and Peter laughed, diving head first under Hooker’s legs and was back on his feet before the man could turn, swiping a sword through the back of Hooker’s overcoat still laughing with a mad sort of glint in his eyes. A boyish, childish glint.

Charles bit his lip anxiously, “But surely not…”

“Not even death is permanent here. Not unless you want it to be.” Water-Sports sighed and rolled his eyes as Hooker gave a particularly vulgar swear over his ruined coat.

“But…” Charles rifled through his short catalog of memories for something to counter the argument, because the idea that one could live forever, even after taking a broadsword through the chest was beyond his capacity to accept.

“Hooker’s hand! It didn’t grow back.”

Water-Sports’ eyes darkened. “Another story for another day. Suffice it to say, Peter’s will can have a great affect on the laws of the island and Captain Hooker went too far. He was lucky it was only a hand.”

It took a minute to come up with another and he smiled, despite himself, because, really, one shouldn’t be smiling at what had ostensibly been, at least in part, cannibalism. “We ate a Merman. Certainly, he didn’t come back to life.”

“No, of course not. Mermen are no better then animals. They’re mean and vicious and I’ll never understand why Peter thought them up, but he did and they’re here and their scales make wonderful arrow heads when treated properly and they're good game hunting if you don’t mind drowning a time or two.”

Oh that was just… well, not as ridiculous as some other things he’d seen in the last five days, but certainly right up there.

Before he could say anything else Peter voice brought his attention back around to the fight. “Charles!”

He was back on the mast again, out of harm’s way and grinning, unharmed. “Yes, Peter?”

“It’s good to see you. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you. I’m feeling well.”

Captain Hooker frowned at Charles, who shrugged, because it wasn’t like he was interrupting anything, Peter was on the mast, well out of reach and the fight wasn’t going to continue until he decided to come down. Which apparently wasn’t yet, as he’d turned his attention to the young man in the leather thong standing beside Charles.

“Water-Sports, scantily clad, as always.”

The man smiled fondly, “Are you complaining?”

Peter narrowed his eyes playfully and waggled his eyebrows, “Never.”

“Enough!” The all turned to Hooker, who was standing at the stern, a boy Charles didn’t recognized held tightly by two men to his left. He was about Charles’ age, Polynesian, hair spiked with red and, most strikingly, he was looking at Peter with an apologetic frown.

For the first time since he’d shown himself, the smile dropped from Peter’s face and he scowled. “Let him go.”

It wasn’t loud and Charles had barely registered the words, but Hooker heard them loud and clear. “Or what, Peter? Your son at the bow, your Lust Boy at the stern. You can only save one, or you could spare them both.”

“You can’t kill either one of them.”

“No, but I could make them wish for it. Or do you doubt that?”

Peter’s expression went from angry and defiant to blank. “No. No, I don’t. I have your word? I surrender, they go free?”

“My word.”

A moment’s hesitation and Peter nodded, “Rufi-Ho, take Charles to the others. I’ll be along.”

He let go of the mast and floated down and Charles found he couldn’t just stand there anymore. Wrenching his arm free, he ran forward and Water-Sports didn’t stop him. No one did, because making someone wish for the death was a death sentence in and of itself in this place. That’s what he’d said, what Captain Hooker had implied. Stab him through the heart and he would mend, unless he didn’t want to and that was what the Captain was threatening.

“Peter, stop!” Captain Hooker watched him, but didn’t interrupt and Charles put himself in front of Peter, taking a moment to cast him a reassuring smile before continuing to other end of the ship, standing in front of the Captain with confidence he didn’t feel. They held eyes for several seconds before Charles managed to get the courage to speak. “You really want him?”

The hook trailed along Charles’ jaw slowly, hard enough to dimple the skin without breaking the surface. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I’ve shared your bed for five days and you didn’t enjoy taking a boy against his will, you enjoyed taking a young man who was perhaps terrified, but eager.”

“Peter’s hardly a boy.”

“No, but he wouldn’t be eager for you, either. He wouldn’t tuck his legs under him and beg. He wouldn’t stroke himself to completion at your command. He wouldn’t get on his knees and let you fuck his throat. He wouldn’t be willing, not for anything you’d offer.”

It was a gamble and Charles hoped he was right. He hoped he’d read the Captain as well as he’d thought he had, because if he hadn’t this wasn’t going to work and he really, really wanted it to work.

The hook pulled at the top most tie of Charles’ shirt, breaking it before dropping to Hooker’s side and Charles really wished the man wasn’t wearing a codpiece, because this would be so much easier if he could see whether his words were having the desired affect.

“And what would you suggest, dear boy?”

“Keep me, instead.” The Captain’s eyebrows raised and his mouth twitched upward at one corner. “Have the pleasure of knowing you turned Peter-Hand’s own son against him. Give me the choice and I’ll choose you.”

Rufi-Ho made a strange squawk of disbelief next to him, but he ignored it, keeping his gaze focused on Captain Hooker, on his eyes traveling down and back up Charles to meet his determined gaze.

Several minutes stretched out and he sensed no movement behind him, not from Peter, who couldn’t possibly hear what he was whispering to Hooker, not from the crew, who waited for orders.

Finally, Peter’s muted cry of, “Charles?” broke the silence, and Hooker finally nodded.

“Tell him. Tell him who you choose and then come back to me and I let them go.”

Charles didn’t bother to hide his smile before he dropped to a knee, kissing the silver hook with eyes raised to meet Hooker’s approving gaze before he turned, bounding down the steps to Peter, stopping just short of hugging him. Peter watched, confused and frowning, eyes flitting between Rufi-Ho and Charles and Hooker, trying to make sense of it.

“Peter.” Peter’s eyes settled on him and Charles smiled, his voice low. “It’s alright. You take Rufi-Ho, I’m staying.”

“Staying? But why?”

“Honestly, I’ve no idea. The last five days have been eye opening and I think I’d like to open my eyes a little more.”

Peter’s frown deepened into confusion, “But… you’re gay and she…”

“Is hung like a horse.”

“Really?” Peter blinked, the frown replaced with surprised wide eyes. “She never said…”

“He, Peter. He’s a man.”

“He. He never said anything about that. Although, some of those threats she…”

“He.”

“He. Some of those threats he used to fling at me make a lot more sense now. When he said he was going to impale me, I thought he meant with his sword.”

“Well… euphemisms.”

“Right, and when he said he was going to take me to bed and split me open, I figured she…”

“He.”

“Is the pronoun really that important?”

“I’m sleeping with what appears to be a woman until you get him naked and, even then, there are quite a few female parts. As someone who’s known he was gay since the age of seven, this would be the first sexual identity crisis I have ever faced. So, yes, Peter, the pronoun is important.”

“Right. Sorry. I forget things, I…”

Charles held up a hand and took a steadying breath, “No, you’re right, it doesn’t matter so much, just… I want to stay and you…” he looked back at the boy still being held by pirates next to the Captain who was standing still, arms crossed over his tightly confined chest. Rufi-Ho’s eyes were glaring silent daggers at Charles and Charles didn’t doubt for a moment that Rufi-Ho knew the truth of who Charles was. He wasn’t Peter’s son, he was a lover and Peter had laughed and joked when he’d come to rescue Charles, but at seeing Rufi-Ho captured, all humor had vanished. He’d gone serious and sullen and surrendered immediately.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Peter blinked down the three inches he had on Charles and his face slowly split into a smile again, his cheeks flushing pink, his mouth moving to form the word ‘love’ without saying it before he finally nodded, “I think I do,” and it sounded like wonderment, like an idea that had just come to him.

Peter took a step toward the stern and stopped, his face set grave and serious again. “Charles, Everland makes you forget. Your family…”

“Died before I was a year old. I was spending the holidays at the dorms because I had no one to go home to. The few friends I have there were made a few short months ago. I won’t be missed nearly as much as you. What of your family? Will you return?”

Peter shook his head without hesitation. “I was living a lie for Moira. She’ll do better without me. She’ll find someone who loves her honestly.”

“And your child?”

“You see what Captain Hooker would do with my children.” Charles could hardly argue with that. “Besides, this is my home. I may have forgotten for a time, but this is where I belong. It’s who I am. This island, this world, _is_ me.”

“Father and son, then?” Because Everland made you forget and Charles was only beginning to figure out what Peter already knew. If they stayed, it wouldn’t be long before it was hard to remember which was the lie and which was the truth.

Peter nodded, “If you ever change your mind?”

Charles nodded his understanding but said nothing more, simply walked back to the stern and took his place at Captain Hooker’s side. With a nod from their captain, the pirates let Rufi-Ho go and he hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to shoot Charles an indecipherable look, before going to Peter, allowing the man to take him with an arm around his waist and lift off into the air.

Peter could _fly_. That was going to take some getting used to. Thankfully, Charles had all the time in the world to do just that. Well, that and a few other things. The Captain caught his silver hook on one of the intact ties of Charles shirt, using it to guide him across the deck to his room and, with a tingling rush of anticipation coiling down his spine, Charles followed.

 

 

*****

 

 

The sky over Everland was cast in pink and purple with the setting sun, reflecting the happy, sated disposition of its creator for the first time in seventeen years and on the wind that swept through the forest, past the coves, and over the makeshift pirate town was the promise of a new adventure. Tomorrow. Tonight, Peter-Hand had other promises to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my friends for feeding this. You put up with my inane giggling when we watch movies and egg me on when I actually share the deviant things that are going in the gutter I call my brain. A special thanks to my beta, Puppy - you make me look like an adult.


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